


Jon Kent

by writingtheworks



Series: the c in DC stands for "cringey" [9]
Category: Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Multi, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 11:41:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19208665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingtheworks/pseuds/writingtheworks
Summary: Jon fics from my reader-insert Tumblr days. Enjoy!





	1. Wind Carries

**Author's Note:**

> Jonathan Kent has trouble with flying, or believing he can fly at all. Y/N L/N-Wayne doesn’t mind helping with that.

“Slow down,” You laughed melodiously. At first, he imagines it’s the wind when he feels something smooth back his hair, but then your fingers are entering his vision and sweeping his bangs out of his eyes.”You’re talking too fast. Start over.”

The wheat fields were golden in the fading light of the sun. Each straw reached toward the sky and waved in the wind like a crowd during the final song of a concert; in unison and to a beat. The pink sky and sunlight had converged on the horizon to paint it a deepening orange, that Kara always said reminded her of Krypton, the red sun’s rays stroking her skin from her bedroom window. Jon can see her in the distance—just a dot to anyone without supervision—working to finish repairing the fences of the horse’s pasture. If he closed his eyes and focussed he could hear her hammer striking nails into wood and feel the vibrations of the movement.

You looked out into the distance, which was like the most beautiful landscape painting come to life in your pupils. Jon gently propped his foot against the chipping white paint coating the porch’s railing. Resting his ear on your lap and sighing as your fingers worked through his Lane-inherited curls, Jon gently began to push his foot to sway the porch-swing.

“Sorry—I.” He sighed again, looking for a summary of his super-speeded rant. When he inhaled the world smelled of grains and fertilizer.”Everyone’s—Every _thing_  has been stressful lately, I guess.”

But that sentence couldn’t properly summarize just how big the mountain settled on his shoulders was.

Firstly, he hadn’t seen you in months—it was rare that your father didn’t need you for some task, bat-related or not. It could also be that Batman didn’t like the idea of any scenario involving the words  _Jon Kent_  and  _Y/N Wayne-L/N_. He had told Jon that it wasn’t the boy’s fault or anything he did (“You come from a good family, son.” Jon recalled Bruce saying.), but simply that he didn’t think Y/N was old enough to date. Which, in all honesty, was a great lie. You and Jon were both 16… meaning that Batman just didn’t want his little kid to grow up. Regardless, he could at least stop glaring at Jon whenever he hugged you goodbye.

Then, there was the ever-looming possibility revolving around his powers. He  _could_ fly. Or at least he  _hoped_ he could, because every time it seemed like he was he always landed on the ground at gravity’s request instead of his. He didn’t need super-hearing to catch his mother’s worried murmurs, or his father’s sympathetic glances. He was supposed to be Superman’s  _son_ , which meant that he had Superman’s  _powers_ … but he didn’t. He could “leap tall buildings in a single bound”, was (almost) “faster than a speeding bullet”, and was “[ _about as_ ] powerful as a locomotive”. He was supposed to be Superman’s  _son_ , which meant that he had Superman’s  _powers_ … or most of them anyway.

Like most of the Bats, you had the odd skill of reading people and situations like an open book. You had taken one look at him sadly stirring his fruit-salad at lunch and stole him away just before dinner. When tending to Krypto had failed to rouse his joviality as it always did, you decided that something more relaxing would make do; porch swinging at sunset it is. You frowned when it seemed your attempt had only been mildly successful.

“Boy, do I understand that.” You smirked. Jon offered a smile that wasn’t as bright against your legs.

When he didn’t give a vocal response, you opted for prodding. That was an amazing thing about Jonathan Kent. While your brothers, sisters, father, and close family friends were usually guarded and not the talking type, Jon came from a family of people who shared and healed together… sometimes reluctantly, but at least he was willing to spill his answers to your questions.

“Is this about your powers, honey?” You questioned just over the gentle purr of the breeze against Jon’s face.

This time Jon does smile. It’s not all-encompassing as it usually is, but it still manages to make you feel like you hadn’t ever seen places like Gotham City, or met people like the Joker. Jon nodded slowly, the frail wood of the swing creaking when he rolled onto his back. That smile flickers on and off his face, trying to make a decision on whether he should show you just  _how_ worried he is, or hide it as not to make you—a child of the Batfamily—uncomfortable with so much emotion.

Sweetly, you thumbed his cheek,”You know I believe you can do it. And if you can’t fly or catch bullets, you can still save people. You wanna know how I know that?”

Jon gave another nod of his head, inviting.

”Because it’s not about  _who_ you come from.” You smiled.”I mean, look at my family. My dad’s a total asshole and I’m—”

“—The most beautiful, kindest, perfect person I know?” Jon finished with a grin. You rolled your eyes and tried to brush off just how red your face was, delicately swatting off his comment. That was yet another reason why you jumped at the chance to visit Jon or even the Kents in general.

When you returned home from school, you were often greeted with,“ _I’m busy, Y/N_.” Or worse,” _I promise I’ll be at dinner._ ” And then you would find a note on the dining-room table with a half-assed excuse, and the lights of the Bat-signal would fill the darkness as you ate by yourself. The late nights alone flashed behind your eyelids and you squeezed them shut out of annoyance.

Then you met Jon Kent through your twin Damian, and suddenly you found yourself being flown into the fields of the farm, a warm hand on your back and another offering you fresh foods and beverages. Bruce Wayne didn’t want you dating Jonathan Kent—but really, he was the factor in this game that brought you so close.

* * *

_“Honestly,” Jon huffed. He clamored down on the rooftop of the Kent residence, failing to realize that his family was asleep underneath him. That’s what he thought anyway; if you knew any better, Clark and Lois were probably debating if they should finally call Bruce for an intervention of some kind. Judging by how hard Kon’s face was when you passed him on your way in, and how Kara’s fists were bunched at her sides, they must be apart of this debate as well. You didn’t blame them for their concern and you probably never will; if a teenage girl showed up to your door for the fifth time in the last three months, you would try and solve the problem as well. Especially if that problem involved childhood neglect._

_“How can they just— **ignore** you like that?” Jon frowned, looking down at his hands guiltily. When he took note of how you hadn’t sat down, he offered a sad smile, pat the seat beside him, and welcomed your ear on his shoulder when you did._

_“The mission.” You said simply, like that was a better excuse than the ones they scribbled on post-it notes. When you shrugged Jon’s brows furrowed. There was a long moment of silence in which you expected many things. The sound of cars or sirens, the hum of a phone going off, or noise in general that meant someone was leaving. But you are greeted by crickets and cicadas chirping from the depths of the property. If you close your eyes, it is so quiet you can hear the creek smoothing rocks as the marker for the distant forest. It is a silence that it’s still somehow alive, so unlike the empty echoes of your feet on marble in an empty Manor. It is almost… calming._

_Or maybe “calming” had been the wrong word. It was more moving than anything else, and something stirs in your stomach that all of your instincts tell you aren’t welcome. But you invite them in. Make them your own. And then you realize that this feeling is sadness, and that the reason your eyes are burning is that you’re crying._

_Jon’s body language changes entirely in seconds. His body unclenches and his hands unwind, melting into something that is definitely not just sympathy. It’s empathy. He may not be able to relate, but he can certainly adapt to your feelings and make them his own, in the way he somehow recognizes you need. You don’t need a cool-down period, or a brooding session like any of your kin would require to lighten up. You need comfort, a connection, and the crush that had been building and burning in Jon’s chest reawakes._

_“We’ll talk to them, Y/N,” Jon promised._

_You shake your head and sighed. The sound was shaky and weak, causing you to wring your fingers in frustration,”That’s not what I want, Jon… No matter what any of us do, there’s never going to be a change.”_

_“Don’t say that.” Jon chided tenderly. Gingerly, he raised one of his supporting arms and allowed it to comb against your other shoulder. Your ear fell back against his arm with the action, and something warm grew in Jon’s chest._

_“We both know it’s true,” You said. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the corner of the blanket Lois had given you. Out of nowhere, your gaze raised and turned to his. From so close your eyes were more E/C than Jon had ever imagined, and the few stars scattered across the heavens reflected in your irises. With a smile and a shake of his head, Jon got to work on swiping away any tears you had missed. You copied his visage but with a softer, more broken version.”But I don’t need them for that anymore. I have you.”_

_When Jon’s face flared and he grinned, you swiftly and awkwardly brushed off,”—And uh, Kara, and Kon, your parents… I have you guys.” You corrected yourself. Jon still didn’t stop smiling, but it calmed again and drifted into something kinder. Apprehensive._

_“No, no. You’re right,” Jon’s hand raised to cup your face, his fingers hooking under your ear and his thumb catching on another falling teardrop._

_Desperate for a connection, for comfort and a presence that wanted your company, you looked at Jon’s face and bobbed your head in a single nod of consent. His lips met yours somewhere in between. You almost cry out in relief at his sweetness, at the pure unaltered kindness pressing from his kiss. The reason why you’re kissing or crying doesn’t go unforgotten, but blurs as Jon enters your new point of focus._

_When you detach from each other, and Jon is closer than before and startlingly so. He flashes a smile,”You **do** have me.”_

* * *

You smiled at the memory and brush back the curls in Jon’s face again. While you were half-daydreaming, he had propped himself up on his elbow, side still laid out on your thighs and foot still rocking you both. With the change of angle, you are granted access to his face. So when you hook your fingers beneath his ear and stroke his cheek with your thumb, he smiled and realized what you had been remembering.

“I know that you can save people without your powers because you’re  _you_ , Jon.” You smiled and prodded Jon’s heart gently,”Sure, being a hero is in your blood. But you made sure it was in your heart, too. So you’ll find a way even if you can’t fly or shoot lasers out of your eyes.”

Jon gave your words some thought, staring deeply at your expression. Gently, he gave a nod,”Yeah. I suppose you’re right.”

“I know I am.” You smirked. Jon laughed, shaking his head and knotting his face in the cute way he always did when he was expressing mirth. He waved you closer with giggles escaping his lips that you suddenly wanted to kiss,”C’mere.” Jon whispered, and you do a lot more than just that.

His kiss is as warm as the sun and as inviting as your blankets at night. His hands encase your neck and then your face like the protective petals of a flower, and suddenly everything is moving again and his apple-cinnamon taste is slipping from your tongue. You open your eyes with the swing stops swaying.

You connect the hands cupping your face to strong farm-built arms, and then a body that is floating above the porch and clinging to you by the shoulders. With a booming, roaring laugh, Jon Kent is  _flying_. 

He grins at you with wide eyes,”Holy  _shit!_ ” 


	2. The Sun and The Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But sometimes, there are afternoons and eclipses where these celestial bodies collide. Little gray areas between the dark and the light. Like now, where the sun joins the moon in her star-lit darkness.

Jon can taste the difference in Gotham City’s sky. It’s smoggier, thicker, like the city had wrapped a hand around his throat and lightly squeezed. It’s also not nearly as bright as Metropolis; even at night the city seemed to glow golden, like a giant bank of gold coins and bars. In comparison, Gotham City is silver and cracked, fractured in places but sleek in others. And yet, the twin cities are only a few miles of bay apart. The sun and the moon. The day and the night.

As Jon cleared the murky waters of Batman’s docks and breathed in that throttling air, he found himself flying faster.  _If you are the sun, Jon, then Y/N’s your moon. She needs you right now._ His mother’s words paired with her concerned expression kept circling through his mind. It was ironic, really, how much you both fit this stupid metaphor the world had labled you with. Jon kept adding things and traits to the list in order to add to it, and you only shook your head and called him a boy scout with that Wayne-inherited smirk on your face.

The flight to Wayne Manor is swift, and faster with his excitement of seeing you. The crimson color of his cape had turned carmine in the moonlight, whispering against the breeze, fluttering to rest behind his knees when he lowered himself down to a balcony. Jon was sure could fly the path to your home upside-down or backwards, his eyes closed and his heart leading the way. He had certainly memorized how to get around the Manor’s defenses. Being one of Bruce’s eldest you had been taught how to disable and hack them anyway, so you gave Jon permitted access to everything you could.

 _Look outside_  - Jon

From within the depths of your silk sheets, you pat around the other side of your too-massive bed and plucked your phone from the mattress. With your head nestled under a thick comforter and those cool silk sheets tucked up to your chin, there were very few things that could raise you from your delirious sleeping state. Jon Kent’s text tone, the strum of a guitar, was one of those few things.

The long shadow of a person casts itself through the glass of your balcony door, flattening against your wall and the ornate trimmings of the [color] paint. Like you had never been asleep at all, you tossed back the covers and forced yourself not to run outside, throw your arms around him and kiss him until the sun comes up. It was certainly what you needed. Instead, you tried to comb your hair back, pulling a small jacket on as you stepped out into the cold, Gotham-country air.

It is now that Jon understands what his mother meant. While he was a warm ray of sunshine filtering through the leaves of an oak tree, a field of waist-high wheat spun golden by Sol’s nimble fingers, you were the natural opposite. A Yin to his Yang. A mirrored reflection of light in a dark room, the flutter of fabric in a cool night breeze, the pointed crests of wings slicing through smoke. You were the night. Jon was the day.

But sometimes, there are afternoons and eclipses where these celestial bodies collide. Little gray areas between the dark and the light. Like now, where the sun joins the moon in her star-lit darkness.

“Jon,” You breathed, closing the door behind you and not daring to turn your back on him,”What are you doing here, love? Don’t you have school tomorrow? And what are you doing in costume—? Someone might see you…”

Jon gracefully let his feet connect with the stone barrier of your balcony, using it as a stair in order to step down to your level.”I came to see you,” Jon greeted, glancing off to the side distractedly,”Tim… he mentioned something yesterday. Something at Gotham Academy? I was worried about you, I wanted to come help.”

You crossed your arms over your pajamas and scowled, jaw tensing and shoulders rolling in the way that betrayed your frustration to him. Jon used to hate how his heart squeezed when your eyes briefly met his, so deep and carnal, so wise and strong. Now, he is thrilled with the feeling. But now, you are angry—and while your father was always scowling, you tended to be more calm and quiet—so angry your fists are balled and you’re almost grinding your teeth. With an hrash hand you forcefully pushed your sleep-knotted hair from your eyes and glared at something far off into the trees.

“Thank you.” You said tightly. You easily caught the bite in your own tone, muffling it with softened frown in his direction,”I-I appreciate it, love, but you don’t need to fly over here every time I have a bad day. It’s fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Jon practically glided over to your side, and you watched at his brows furrowed and heard his scoff echo in your ears. It rung like a laugh.”Are you kidding me? Y/N, as your boyfriend, it’s my  _job_ to worry about you. It’s all I ever do. It’s all I’m ever  _gonna_ do.”

He’s not lying. If  _Y/N Wayne_ was ever in trouble, Superboy would be there in seconds to do the saving. You hated it more than anything, you hated being the damsel, but the way Jon always brushed the hair out of your eyes and held you made you think it wasn’t that bad. And as time chugged over hills and into valleys, your relationship finally bloomed. With every minute, every  _second_  Jon was grazing instead of holding, loosely hugging instead of embracing, always terrified of pressing too hard or breaking this or that. Sometimes you just wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth.” _Nice punch, Ms. Wayne,_ ” He’d say, then he’d cup your fingers and check your knuckles for splits or bruises.

But maybe he wasn’t just saving you from physical trouble—sometimes, anyway. You had made sure he knew you could do a lot more than just handle yourself—but from emotional trouble, too. Being the antonym for “over-sharer” meant it took a forever to pry apart your thoughts, and even longer to decipher your words. They were like a constant hum in the back of your mind, vibrating your skull into it split into a headache, a rattling fan you couldn’t turn off. But Jon… he always managed to translate the noise. Turn it into words that made sense. He had learned to read you so well you almost questioned if he had empathic abilities too.

“I don’t… I don’t really want to talk about it, love. I just want to forget about it.” You sighed.

Jon pressed his lips together at your forlorn sigh. But then a slow, easy and accepting smile appears on his face. Like a dove he began to fly, diving over the edge of your balcony and disappearing, resurfacing with his arms crossed over the rail. You met him under the moonlight and exhaled quietly at the handsomeness held in his face; his eyes mirrored the surviving stars above you, blinking like they were telling secrets to each other far above your heads; his messy, curly mop of hair, flopping this way and that with every movement; that eager grin on his face, so bright and so tender. He really was the sun. Your sun.

“I have an idea.” Jon said, nearing your faces.

“And what is that?” You questioned, leaning closer.

“Do you want to go flying with me?” He whispered like a child in awe of something beautiful, like a glittering sunrise sending of fractals of light into the horizon’s water, or an even prettier sunset blending the sky with pinks, oranges, and blues.”You could get outside the Manor. See the world.”

“And this is safe?” You asked, a smile creeping onto your face. Jon relished in the sight.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t, sweetheart,” Jon said. Then, he flew upward, landing on the railing as he had done before. But this time, the teen bowed, extending a playful hand to take. With that cape draped around his shoulders he looked like a knight of old, clad in his most ornate armour just to impress the princess he was courting. He raised his head and smiled casually,”Do you trust me?”

Your serious eyes widened. But that smile managed to root itself onto your face,”What?”

“Do you trust me.” Repeated Jon, raising his palm closer to your face.

If you knew one thing for certain, it was that you trusted Jonathan Kent. It wasn’t because he was Superman and Lois Lane’s son, it wasn’t because he was now an experienced crime-fighter. It was because he had always managed to have your back even after the eternity you had known each other. With every breath he worried about you, and that worry placed him at your side, guarding your back and raising your fists in battle together. It urged him to be there for the times you were falling from skyscrapers with no one to catch you, and for when your father grew too harsh or school had caused too much anxiety. Jon was always  _there_ , as present as the sun midday.

“ _Yes…_ ” You agreed skeptically.

A smirk slipped onto your face. When you clasped Jon’s hand you felt your infatuation for him barricade your lungs, squeeze your heart, fill that vacant space deep within you as it always seemed to when he was near. You felt like the world could end and everything would be just fine if he was there.

Jon scooped you into his arms. It was too easy to lay your ear against his heart and fall asleep. But then the wind began to shift and the air grew breathlessly tighter… and you were climbing. Racing the moon to the highest point in the sky, never seeming to catch up. Before you could open your eyes and see Gotham from a different perspective, you felt Jon’s lips brush your ear with a face-splitting grin,”I can show you the world…”


	3. Summer Lovin'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kents get a new farm hand.

“Good morning and happy first week of Summer, Jon.” Lois Lane greets, ruffling her son’s hair, which is already in disarray. Immediately afterward, she smooths it back down and nods outside,”You’re lucky I let you sleep in. Now hurry up, your dad and Kon need your help.”

The kitchen smells of a full family breakfast—these come every day, so Jon isn’t all that disappointed to hear that he missed one—with farm-made scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes and waffles. They fill his nose and make him smile, even if only gets a scrap of toast and a rushed last-minute waffle. His hands are sticky with syrup when he shoves the toast in his mouth, almost tearing his sleeves when he rolls them up out of sheer excitement.

Kon doesn’t come around often. When he does, he’s the best goddamn big brother anyone can ever imagine, regardless of what Damian argues in Dick whenever the subject arises. Before Jon could fly, Kon would tie a towel around his neck and hook him up on his shoulders. Then he’d take off into the sky and let Jon taste the clouds and bathe in the sun. (Damian would probably say something about Icarus, but then again, Jon wasn’t exactly the bird here). And during the periods in which Jon was grounded, Kon would find him and at one time even helped him sneak out. Together, they ventured to Titan’s Tower and played video games until Robin found them and spoiled the fun. ” _Us Superboys have to stick together, Jon-o._ ” He said on the flight home. This is why when Jon darts out the door, Lois is smiling.

Jon marches down the rows of corn, past the sprouts that he and Kara had replanted after Clark’s failed attempted at a corn maze, the sturdy brick farmhouse peeking out between the healthy and heavy-headed stalks. It’s hot out today. Hot enough where all the windows in the house are open, fans abuzz and appropriate clothing for the weather are tossed on. But hot means the sun is out, and it is possibly the most beautiful thing Jonathan Kent has ever felt or seen.

He’s been trapped underground and in the dark so long that he can feel the sun’s effect on his skin. Clark had arranged another “play-date” with Damian, even if the two of them were now teenagers and Damian invited him over anyway. The scent of the cave and it’s cold air swallows him again and he almost shudders; even if Damian is his unofficial best-friend, sometimes it was hard to be dunked in his dark world. He bet Damian would say the same about the farm landscape before him.

Regardless if he’s already sweating and he has to shrug off his extra layer of flannel, Jon’s statement still holds true; the sun is utterly beautiful, and the cicadas chirping in the depths of the tree-lined perimeter of the property seem to agree. Summer will not give in to the looming threat of school. Its grapple on the season is still mighty. Not quite as mighty as his father when he shouts for Jon to hurry over, but mighty regardless. He can only pray that this summer goes by slow… or maybe he wants it to go by fast.

Homelife, in comparison to the other’s Jon has seen, is perfect. He has a schedule to keep to and family to spend it with, then in the afternoons he’s free to save the world. Jon’s mother Lois is happy and Clark makes her happier. Ma Kent is elated to have her family swarm her every night, even if she sighs exasperatedly as she knits or bakes or gardens. Clark is living the American dream. School is the one thing that breaks that peace, punches a hole in it with its dirty fists and only three people know just how much he hates school; his mother, who will only frown at him and do her best by supplying little gifts, like writing about Superboy in the Daily Planet, or giving her advice after she makes his favorite dinner; Damian, who brags about what he is capable of, then tosses in a piece of advice that is either surprisingly heartfelt or incredibly valuable; and then Kon, who groans with him but gently urges him try his hardest. But Jon _is_ trying, and yet he still can’t seem to get that through to anyone.

He’s created an acronym that he references with these three people all the time. GTG. Grades, teachers, and girls. Otherwise known as got to go, because that’s definitely how he wants to answer when Trojan High begins to call for him each morning. Every summer they spent with Ma and Pa Kent, then Clark, Lois, and Jon all returned to the cute little house they had in the New Troy suburb of Metropolis. There, Jon was subjected to the torture of GTG.

Grades. Grades are his first struggle, because Jon has been taught not to value himself by numbers or letters—unless you count his stance as the present generation of the House of El, for he has to wield that crest with the respect and power it deserves—but to show what he is by what he does. But it’s a contradicting cycle that makes his head spin. Apparently, not only his actions in the real world define him, but his actions of not getting an A on that test does too. He can only scratch his head and ask,  _what the heck, dad?_

Teachers and fellow students weren’t always kind to Jon Kent. Sure, he was raised primarily in  _The Monarch City_ , but that little farm in Smallville would forever have a large part of his heart. He had a bit of the farmboy accent when he talked (a “twang” as his mom had deemed it) and he was from a small town, so that’s all it took for his “colleagues” to attack him. And then his teachers have the great Lois Lane glaring down their backs. His mother was a wildfire that was still burning, and the fact that these teachers never really challenged or stimulated him (they thought he was one of the “stupid kids™”, but enhanced intelligence was technically one of his powers) made her furious. So she made sure that they challenged him, and therefore gave him a headache every day. Thanks, mom.

Girls were always a subject at his school, especially if you were a boy roped into a group of other boys. They all saw the buff arms, sly look in his eyes, and pretty face and automatically assumed that he was like them—an inherent asshole. When he was pulled into this group he was drowned in talks of sports and… girls. But the thing is, Jon Kent isn’t a player. Hell, he’d never even had a girlfriend before. There’d be the crush or two here or there, but never a girlfriend. So when they all turn their gazes on him and squeeze the name of a crush out of him, Jon finds himself being honest. Maybe there was  _one_ girl he liked.

Y/N L/N is utterly beautiful. Not in the way that the girls his “friends” liked were (and Damian, too. Jon had no idea what kind of girls or guys he was into), but in the way the sun seeping into his skin is. When she talks she knows what she’s saying. When she walks, she knows where she needs to be. When she’s concerned, she looks at him with wise, compassionate eyes that seem to know everything about him _.”Are you alright, Kent?”_

The boys laugh when he reluctantly coughs up her title. Some smile knowingly, others roll their eyes and murmur, _”Good luck, man.”_  From what he can gather, Y/N is a kind girl… but a kind girl with high standards, but also one who doesn’t like assholes. So maybe Jon does have at least a chance. So maybe if he wants the summer to go by fast, it’s because he wants to see you.

But as he rounds the corner of the barn, see’s Clark laughing and closing the doors, hears a voice that’s way too different to belong to Kon, Jon suddenly flushes deeply. You clutch your hand over your mouth, keel over and burst your laughter into your palm.”Oh, we’re definitely keeping you around, Ms. Y/N,” Clark chuckles, laying a hand on your mirth-shaking shoulder,”You’re a riot.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kent.” You responded respectfully, nodding with a grin,”And please, just call me Y/N. I’ll be working with you for the next three months anyway.”

“Three months I’m sticking around for, especially if you’re still dishing out jokes like that one. Where did you even hear that?” Kon questioned.

You shrugged, laughing.”I saw the calfs and it just came to mind. I don’t know.”

Clark’s hearing catches the crunch of drying grass beneath Jon’s shoe, and he turns his head to greet his son as you and Kon grab baskets. During the summer the peas, blueberries and strawberries would all be ripe. Ma Kent always made the best strawberry jam, and Kon tells you this as Clark waves Jon over,”Jon! Just in time. We’re about to go pick the fruits—have you met Y/N yet? She’s the farmhand that Ma hired.”

“No,” Jon says, because he hasn’t met you today. But then he realizes his mistake and reddens deeper,”I mean, uh, we have. Met. Before.”

“Jon!” You brighten with a grin.”I had a feeling that you were the son Mr. Kent mentioned. It’s so good to see you.”

This behavior and this greeting weren’t all that weird. You had gravitated toward Jon when you arrived at his school, and being the nice person he was, he did it so you didn’t feel awkward and alone. This had been the place where the crush beating in his chest had been planted. Now, it is in full bloom and ready for your picking or your tending. Your smile is that sunlight that feeds his heart and his powerful body, and suddenly Jon realizes that he’s never responded.

“It’s great to see you too. What are you doing so far from Metropolis?” Jon sputtered out, still reeling. A farm hand? Out of all the chances, you were chosen? Someone was looking out for Jonathan Kent, and he found himself begging that someone to gift you the same feelings he felt in his heart as it now pulses.

You held your basket in both hands and gently swung it as you talked, a hypnotising quirk that drew Jon’s gaze to your shoes.”My parents have a summer home down here, really close to my grandparents. We come every summer! This year I wanted to get a job so I could start saving for college, and I saw the add in the newspaper. I sent a few papers and qualified.” You pat his arm and began to follow after Clark. Jon fell into step beside you, mind buzzing a mile a minute. You smiled at him,”I guess that means I’ll be seeing more of you.”

“Awesome!” Jon beamed. He examined his response and deemed it too over-excited, and toned it down with an additional,”…Cool.”

“So…” You fiddled with the end of your gloves, but then spun your gaze determinedly forward, back straightening and feet striding to shift into a more professional state of mind. This was a job, even if you were working it with a friend. Or at least that’s how it appeared to Jon. If anything, you were actually trying to maintain your cool because of him. Jonathan Kent was a very sweet, very pretty boy that had taken an interest in you, and you didn’t want to swarm him and make him uncomfortable. You knew that he liked you, but you didn’t want to rush into things and wreck it all.”…What else do you do besides fieldwork during the summer?”

As your conversation bled from summer activities outside the barn to childhood stories between the strawberry vines, Jon trailed after you and tried to pretend he was working whenever his father glanced over. You wore a baseball cap to protect you from the sun, and it hid your beautiful eyes as you leaned down to pull apart the fruits of a strawberry plant.

Jon looks skyward and towards his beloved sun,  _Thank Rao for coincidences._


	4. Mrs. Kent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’d had this sickness in the morning for the past three weeks. And your period. Had you… had you missed it? With the thought, you glanced at your phone. There was only one person you could call.

> **CITY OF METROPOLIS; PIER LILLIAN; AMUSEMENT MILE | 7:42 PM | ONE MONTH AGO**

“I could win you anything you could ever want, Mr. Kent,” you promised, flicking a piece of popcorn at him and grinning ear-to-ear.

Jon caught it smoothly, a throw that nearly everyone would have missed with how quickly you had sent it to him. He rolled with the movement and sent it flying high into the air. The snack came down with zero grace, and yet Jon not only managed to seize it, but caught it in his mouth and ate it cheerfully. He had made it clear that Amusement Mile’s popcorn was simply just better than it’s other variations. After getting some from a vendor and trying it yourself, he was definitely not wrong. Buttered and salted to perfection, each little puff of goodness filled you up well and left your mouth watering at the thought of seconds. Fair food came with a special kind of luck that simply made it  _better_.

”Bet, Mrs. Kent.” Jon said. There was a fine giddiness in his tone. From the day your name on official documents changed from  _Y/N Wayne-L/N_ to  _Y/N Kent_  he never refrained from using the term, and he never stopped looking like a massive dork when he did, too. The smile on his face came to encompass his eyes, painting every inch of his skin that it could reach in an attractive rose you relished in.

“The Shooting Gallery, Balloon Pop, Ring Toss, Speed Pitch, any of the arcade games, and of course…” You raised your bicep and flexed proudly,”The  _High Striker_.”

“Uh… I’d be pretty good at Spill the Milk?” Jon said, laughing and pretending to throw a baseball at the traditional stack of milk bottles. No doubt they would topple with his super-strength, but you had him when it came to accuracy and aim. That was thanks to years of being Batgirl. While the gear was more your specialty than anything else, you could throw Batarangs like no one else.

“You’d also take first place in a wet t-shirt contest,” you added absentmindedly, to which Jon nearly choked on his own spit. He immediately laughed, great and booming, and the sound made your cheeks ache from just how hard you were grinning at him.

The carnival at night was just as beautiful during the day. The glow from food vendor’s stands lit the paths in dances, the Ferris Wheel filling the streets with flying multicolored patterns, crowds jumping in tandem to the beat of a local band’s song. You breathed in the scent of carnival food and could have fainted from just how good it all was. With the great, towering skyscrapers reflecting the moonlight in steely stripes across its windows in the distance, the night began to draw closed with a sense of completion lingering in your belly.

You slipped your hand into one of the pockets on Jon’s jeans. It was possible you had been doing this for so long that his hand reacts on its own accord, slipping around your back and clasping your hip comfortably. You direct your smile up at him,”But seriously. If we’re leaving soon, then I have to win you at least  _one_ thing. You paid for our tickets, for food, and have done nothing but drool over me all night and called me sweet things. Let me win you something.”

Jon raised a hand to his lips,”I didn’t… Did I really  _drool_ over you?”

“Little bit,” you smiled. After tossing the empty container of popcorn in a trashcan, you slipped your hand into Jon’s and nodded at the ring toss and gently tugged him along,”C’mon, pretty boy.”

As the night was already winding down, the clerk and his company had retired to talking. When you approached, they bid you hello with polite smiles, and wished you luck in your hopes to get a prize. Even after moving in with Jon at one of Metropolis’ most massive and core apartment buildings, you still couldn’t believe how nice some of the people were here.

“Think I can make it in one?” You asked Jon, pulling the six plastic rings into your hands. With a quick judgment of their weight and the distance between the bottles, you determined how you would throw. Usually you would have to throw them one at a time. But you were too good for that.

Jon watched the shift in your focus occur in your eyes. The smile on his face had become teasing,”I don’t know, B.G. Pretty sure you lost your touch.”

Fluidly, you tossed the rings. They flew as if you held a remote control in your palm, gracefully gliding downward like birds in their decent. All six hit their mark with perfect accuracy. As they spun in lazy circles with the momentum of your throw, you glanced smugly back at your husband,” _Lost my touch?_ ” You mocked.

The two clerks clapped. Jon politely pointed out which prize he wished for, and you walked back to the car with your elbows hooked, a Scooby Doo plush two time’s Krypto’s size under his arm. Grass tickled your ankles as you walked down the length of field surrounding Metropolis’ outer edge, rows upon rows of cars glinting oddly in the moonlight.

“That was really cool, to be honest. I miss seeing you in action like that,” Jon commented, glancing at you to make sure you had no negative response toward the mention of your retirement.

While you had famously assured everyone that you wanted to focus on school, you had yet to return to the mantle of Batgirl even after graduating. Damian had made it more than clear he wanted you back with how protective he was of your costume, seizing like a threatened tiger when someone other than you mentioned taking on the role. Your new excuse had adapted to the importance of your new job, with the addition of your partnership with Lucius Fox in the R&D department of W.E, the truth was simple. Only Jon really knew how badly you wanted a family due to the absence of your original. You decided together after graduating that you would start one together. The rings on your fingers were the first step.

“Makes me feel like a kid again, when we just started dating,” Jon admitted. His thumb brushed affectionately against your side.

“Stop talking like a grandpa. You’re only 23, Jon,” you scoffed, but the smirk you had been trying to hide slipped through regardless when you gestured to his body,”You’re  _definitely_ not a kid anymore, as I’ve learned from personal experience.”

Jon missed the double meaning in your tone, and so you couldn’t help but snicker when he innocently replied,”Yeah, I have gotten a lot taller since then.”

You were lucky to come upon the car at that time, as it made for the perfect prop. Using the sides of Jon’s jacket as a steering wheel, you pressed his back into the passenger’s side of his car. He yelped with the change in position. Scooby had been dropped in his surprise, a blush already swarming his skin.

You pulled your faces closer and bit your lip,”I wasn’t referring to  _that_.”

“Oh,” Jon said, a little dumbly.

Your hands slid up his shirt, fingers molding over his abdominals, applying pressure in order to feel the true power of the muscle under his skin. You shuddered. It was like he was wearing a metal chest-piece, which molded over every taut curve of his stomach and chest. They certainly said he was made of steel for a  _reason_. Your touch had already begun to stir him, and he did that beautiful thing where his eyes fluttered shut and he turned is gaze to the heavens, a blissfully shaky exhale blown into the warm summer breeze. You took the chance to cup one side of his neck. The cords of muscle rolled underneath the skin, welcoming the slew of open-mouthed kisses you gifted.

With your lips beginning to travel from his nape to his collarbones, he swallowed harshly. You felt his adam’s apple bob.” _Oh_.”

Jon wasted no time with the realization. His fingers comb back your hair, lock by lock so he could see your face. The music and chiming and talking from the carnival fell away. Jon heard your heartbeat, wild and beautifully alive, and committed it’s heavy pace to memory. He felt your eyes more than he saw them, felt them seeing him down to the core of who he was, and he felt you relax into him.

The first kiss is quick. The second comes crashing in, held between shallow and stuttering breaths, but all things close and distinctly home. He’s kissed you a thousand times and yet it’s just as exhilarating as his first flight, as exhilarating as your hands in his curls and your eager touches.

“Home?” You asked quietly, chasing a clear breath.

“No… I don’t think…” Jon mindlessly shook his head against your brow. He laughs, bright and musical into your ear, before he bent down and easily slid his arms under your shoulders and knees. You yelped, clamoring for purchase with your hands around his neck.”Hold tight,” Jon said, and then you were in the air, racing toward the moon, hair out and billowing behind you.

You shrieked a laugh when Jon took off. He grinned when you wrapped yourself so tight around him that your nose had been pressed into his cheek, toes curled in order to keep your loose sneakers still on your feet. His shirt caught the wind with a solid  _snap_ and had blown apart his hair as if the breeze had driven its fingers through it. You were no different, windblown and beautiful, giggling wildly as Jon took the both of you to a safe height.

“Where are we going?” You hollered over the wind.

“The fortress!” Jon replied. When you gave him a questioning look he could only grin, squeezing you tight and confessing,”We have to get to a more secure building before we… y’know!”

You grew your brows together and shot him a questioning stare.

”I think I’d end up giving Metropolis an earthquake in the 7.8 range!” He explained. Jon turned his cheek so that his lips were brushing your ear, pulled back into a sly yet embarrassed smirk,”I’d shatter our apartment building from how bad I want you.”

Jon had to bite down on his lip to keep from laughing. You looked at him with wide E/C eyes, lips parted for the syllable,” _Oh._ ”

* * *

> **CITY OF METROPOLIS; JON AND Y/N KENT’S APARTMENT | 9:21 AM | PRESENT**

It hadn’t rained lately. Though the rain had never made you sick, you hadn’t been out in the rain lately, so that couldn’t have been the cause. As far as you could tell you hadn’t eaten anything bad—Jon did grocery shopping, and having been raised on a farm with super senses, he could pick out the best of the crop—taste wise or duration of eatability wise. Not to mention, your job at W.E. had been going slow, with no deadlines in sight, and nothing to repair for the Bats. It was almost boring having nothing to do with your lack of work, as you stayed in your apartment all day and binged television shows. For once, your schedule was free enough for an  _actual date_ with Jon. How long had it been since you had enough room for a  _date?_

You would have gone on another if it weren’t for this sudden case of… what? Stomach flu? You didn’t even know. All you knew was that the very thought of food made you want to keel over, and ever since your mad-dash into the bathroom this morning, you’d resided to suffering in silence by the toilet and waiting for another part of the storm. Why did you  _eat so much_ last night?

There were actually multiple pros to being sick. You got to recline and sink into the depths of your mattress all day, either for the second round of sleeping or for a complete day of nothing but television. To make things even better, Jon was there.  _Jonathan Kent_. Your husband. Sweet, handsome, nice-smelling, immune-to-every-sickness-ever Jon Kent, who was unafraid of holding back your hair when your sickness arose again.

“Uh, I really didn’t know what to get, but this stomach sickness one was my best guess,” Jon said. He padded into your bathroom, pills in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Krypto followed closely at his heels, scampering into your lap and pushing his snout into your hand. He barked when Jon sat down on your other side, backs pressed into the edge of the tub, the canine’s muzzle resting on your knees. Jon pet Krypto’s ears after delivering the medicine to you,”I’ve only ever gotten sick once or twice when I was younger.”

“Lucky,” you said. You leaned into his side and practically moaned aloud when he embraced you, all cool skin and muscle.

Jon worriedly held his knuckles against your forehead and frowned. You knew instantly that he was listening to your heartbeat when he inclined his head, frown fixing. He said,”Do you want to eat anything? My mom says saltines are good for when you’re sick, and Dad would get me a coke to settle my stomach. I can rub your back, if you want, too. I know how much you love it when I rub your back.”

“Jon,” you sighed, trying not to smile. It broke through anyway, and it made Jon’s head swim—how could someone be so sick and still be so  _pretty?_ Even with your voice all nasally and your skin as hot as the sun, Jon still got all dizzy when you smiled at him. That’s definitely how he knew he loved you. You angled his jaw so that you were eye-to-eye,”I’ll be  _fine_. That’s sweet of you, but I’m used to dealing with this on my own.”

A frown flashed across his face with your phrasing. Jon swiftly dedicated himself to the idea that he would be your caretaker until this sickness went away, and huffed,”No way. We’ll have another lazy day, okay? We’ll lie in bed forever, and I can even run to the hardware store and get you whatever you want! Maybe you could show me how to make something. I’ll do the dishes even if it’s your day, and then we can make a little drone or something together. How does that sound?”

You smiled into Jon’s chest and sighed,” _Perfect_.”

Jon carefully lifted you, attentive in the amount of movement he was making. Krypto was already darting into your bedroom by the time Jon laid you on your side of the bed, bounding off the floor and gracelessly wrapping himself around your legs. Jon knelt down and put his elbows on your mattress.

“Do you want anything before I—” Jon suddenly tensed. Both he and Krypto jerked their attention toward the wall, ears perked and brows knit.

“What’s that, boy?” You joked, playfully scratching behind Jon’s ear,”Trouble at the old mill?”

“Down at the park, actually.” Then Jon was up and rushing, darting over to your bin of clean laundry (at least, you hoped it was clean) and shoving an arm in. He pulled out his classic jacket, now fitted to a larger size to accommodate him, and dipped it up in record timing. He apparently didn’t see it fit to change out of his Batgirl pajama pants, swiftly delivering a glass of water to your end-table and a kiss to your temple,”Gotta go. Love you, sunshine.”

“I love you too.” The phrase had barely left your mouth and Jon was just a scent in the air and a streak of yellow, blue, and red.

Krypto settled his nose on your belly, panting with his tongue lolling out of one side of his mouth. His fur was soft and stark white under your hands, like warm, giddy snow. You let yourself relax into your pillows with your fingers gently scratching the canine’s face and neck.

You were Batgirl once. Jon would argue that you still were. Logically you knew what this sickness was, but something in you just couldn’t accept it. After a childhood of empty dinner tables and neglect settling like acid in your belly, you always fled to the Kents in times of need. Lois would greet you with warm motherly hugs, Clark would tell you how he was proud of you for juggling so many tasks, with Conner ruffling your hair and Krypto tackling you each time you entered the house. You went there because it felt like you had a family. That’s all you’d ever wanted, and with Jon… Maybe it wasn’t that you couldn’t accept it, but that you could  _register_ it. You couldn’t believe you were finally here.

You’d had this sickness in the morning for the past  _three weeks_. And your  _period_. Had you… had you  _missed it?_

With the thought, you glanced at your phone. _There was only one person you could call._

* * *

> **JUSTICE LEAGUE WATCHTOWER; MEDICAL BAY WAITING ROOM | TWO WEEKS LATER**

“Lois, slow down. I said  _slow down—_ ” You caught your mother-in-law by the shoulder, but that didn’t stop Lois from continuing her wild pacing. He heels clipped against the tile in brisk, even strokes, as swiftly beating as your hearts were. She had been running, walking, and pacing in those heels all day, something you were sure you could never do.

“Sit,” you urged, gently guiding her into a nearby chair.”Jon will be fine. B, Allen, J’onn, and Clark are all in there. They’ll get the bullet out.” Lois did so reluctantly.

The Watchtower was surprisingly quiet, judging from the panic that had occurred just hours before. While you had imagined it would be crowded with League Members galore, all looking at you oddly—they would recognize Batgirl, but not you—you were incorrect. Most heroes were still down in the battle zone working on cleanup, while others had retreated to tend to their injured or to just go home. The League’s core members had stayed behind to cover the Watchtower or deal with a shot Superboy. The Leagues core members, you, Lois, and Damian.

“I would imagine this situation would work in reverse,” he confessed, speaking up from the long silence his worry had drawn him into. Your brother looked you over with suspicious eyes,”But then again, I’m also not surprised to see you are the calmest.”

“You should be freaking out right now,” Lois said, knee still bouncing. She forced it to calm and tilted her head, careful of her phrasing in reference to your newfound secret,”How are you doing?”

“Didn’t get sick this morning, if that’s what you mean. I feel fine,” you confessed. You thought to Jon, the bullet in his chest, who had fired it. You tried not to grit your teeth.  _Besides the obvious, of course._  The only reason you kept from grabbing your uniform and marching after him was the future you were now holding.

Damian piped up,”It should be receiving a heartbeat soon. He’ll find out any minute. All that idiot does is listen to your pulse.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” you lowered your voice, wringing your hands of the sweat that had suddenly pooled there. Your palm had subconsciously drifted over your belly when you sat down between them.

“Why?” Lois half-laughed. But when you did not laugh with her, her violet eyes widened and she shook her head,”Don’t tell me you’re  _worried_ Jon won’t want that. Jon’s always wanted a kid. Especially with you.”

“I guess I’m just anxious for no reason,” you sighed. Damian smirked,”Paranoia does run in our family.”

“Why don’t you just… tell him? He’s going to find out soon,” Lois suggested,”And he’s not going to be upset. He goes on and on about how beautiful and wonderful you are. When you first started dating, he’d point you out in a crowd and say,  _That’s the girl I’m going to marry_ ,” Lois pointed to your heart,” _Right there._ ”

“He did, all the time, and I absolutely hated it,” Damian said. When you laughed, the barest of smiles teased his face.

Lois took one of your hands,”And I am so glad that he did, so you’re apart of our family.”

Damian playfully reached up and tugged a lock of your hair,”Don’t forget what family you come from, either. You have five older siblings who would happily hunt Jonathan down in your favor, Kent.”

There is a sudden cheer from the operating room. The three of you leaped up the moment it came. Clearly you had been insanely worried about Jon, for when you first get to the door you practically pried it open. When you did, the group inside broke away from the patient sitting on the bed. Jon was already stretching, the bullet hole now a little star on his pectoral.

As if he could read your mind, Jon opened his arms. You launched yourself into them, instantly swarmed by warmth, the blinding smell of antiseptic, and the remnants of Jon’s natural scent of apple pie. He laughed. It was as beautiful as it always was. When you embraced him, Jon wrapped his arms around your thighs so that you could wrap your arms around his hair.

“Hi, sunshine,” Jon said.

“ _Jon_ ,” you breathed gratefully into his neck.

Bruce had a silent motion for the room to clear. He glanced at you ever so briefly, letting the happiness in your expression sink in, before turning his head and letting the doors shut behind him.

With the newfound privacy, you bring yourself impossibly closer to him. There was something relieving in hugging him, something instinctively inviting, a thing that unwound the tension from your shoulders and bringing you into the only place in which you felt unconditionally safe. You melted like hot molasses into him, and Jon accepted as a lover of sweet things.

“I’m so glad you’re alright,” you confessed, winding your fingers into his loose waves of hair.

“It came out right away,” Jon explained. He pointed to the new scar on his chest,”Just— _bloop._ Done.” His eyes were a beautiful mix of blue and lavender, like edges of a sunset, melting into one another and blending like new paints. One minute they were solid blue. The next, he would turn his cheek and the purple flecks would reveal themselves. Another turn and they would become glinting amethysts.

Jon inclines his head, sighing deeply against your cheek. He leisurely calmed himself into the lulling beat of your heart. It was absolutely pounding, a crescendo of rolling drums, strong enough that he could feel it when he pressed his ear against your heart. It was louder than normal. Louder than even all of this relief, or his presence alone. You were nervous.

He pulled back to view your face. It was expectant, waiting for a response that it seemed you were scared to hear. Jon’s lips parted to pose his concern, but then he heard it. Soft. Steady. New. Jon’s expression brightened in awe, and he frantically lifted you higher as to press his ear against your stomach. You squealed with the change in position. Jon was blinded by the discovery, his heart now hammering just as loudly in the silence.

“I can hear it,” he whispered. He said it again, louder.”I can hear another heartbeat. Y/N…”

Jon gently set you on the ground. His eyes had become distant and unfocused. Then came the smile, conquering his enter face, dizzy and euphoric and elated. He dropped down to his knees, clasping your waist with two powerful hands and pressing his ear against your stomach again. His eyes fluttered shut and he looked to the heavens in bliss. When they reopened, his irises glistened with unshed tears.

“Are you…?” Jon asked, even though he most definitely knew the answer to that question.

You cupped each side of your husbands face, and laughed awkwardly,”Surprise!”

> **BONUS:**

Jon’s eyes honed in on your fingers, comparing their size, entwining them repeatedly and slowly. As the day had wound down you had finally gotten a chance to rest. The couch sunk in with the shared weight of your exhausted bodies. After going several days without seeing one another, Jon had taken to being possessively affectionate.  _Possessively_. You had awoken to his murmurings against your still-flat stomach, mindlessly drawing patterns and whispering Kryptonian phrases into your skin; he’d taken so long kissing you goodbye that Bruce had apparently given him an earful for being late; and Jon had jumped at the chance to kiss you or touch you or kiss you  _and_ touch you with every breath.

“You know how I said I will never love anyone as much as I love you? I may have lied,” Jon confessed, pausing. He pulled his lips from your shoulder,”There is someone else.”

You furrowed your brow, shooting him a questioning look. Sleepily you asked,”…What?”

“Mhm,” Jon hummed. There was a blissful smile on his face, his hands combing around your hips and over your belly,”And they’ll call you  _“mommy”_.”  


	5. Have You Ever Dreamed of Flying?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one soulmate au with tattoos.

“You’re lying! This has to be a fake,” Tia had said.

“What do you mean?” You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Even if she failed to notice, you knew for a fact her comment had made your bare shoulders wind tighter. With a light hiss, you frowned down at your feet,”How can somebody fake a soulmark?”

“Uh… Just get a tattoo?” Tia giggled nervously. The veil of silence drew closed again, and within it you could feel her eyes sweeping across the scope of your back. She seemed to be holding her breath. Tia refrained from making any other comments like her previous, trying to hide how her hands were shaking.

It wasn’t every day that someone showed you their soulmark. It was like you had pried open your ribcage and let every secret fly loose for her viewing; Tia was looking at the very thing that you held dearest, a part of you that no one could take away, the part of you that connected you to someone else. It was the physical embodiment of your future. So maybe, just maybe she was a little terrified of saying the wrong thing in response or pushing too far. Tia had done a great job of that already.

“I’m… I’m not saying that it’s bad or anything,” Tia assured. She tilted her head to try and catch your eyes in the mirror again, scattering a waterfall of deep-brown coils off her shoulder. You continuously avoided them. Tia knew how you were—how  _secretive_ you were—and therefore just how big this gesture was. For you, it was huge. For others like herself, a soulmark wasn’t all that big a deal. It was like having a birthmark in an odd place or a unique color eye. For others like Tia, a soulmark was just something someone might comment on to begin a conversation. Too many times people had pointed to the GCPD Detective’s Badge on her collarbones and asked,”Hey, so your soulmate’s a cop? In  _Gotham?_  Ha, poor guy.”

You eyed your own reflection in the mirror, itching to pull your shirt back on again, for her to turn her eyes away from your back. But you had to do this. Tia had to be the first one to know. Tomorrow, your friends had planned to go out. At the beach. Where you’d have to wear a swimsuit. A swimsuit that showed your mark, because no one else in the tower had a tattoo as big as your own. No one else had something that covered your entire back. You had almost wanted to bail, but then Tia had caught the tail end of your anxiety and posed the obvious question,” _Why do you care if anyone sees it? It’s just a soulmark. Not like it’s a big deal.”_

She didn’t know what your soulmark looked like. That’s why her advice wouldn’t,  _couldn’t_ work, because your soul mark was not  _just a soulmark_. Tia now knew why.

“Can I… May I… touch it?” Tia asked carefully from your bed.

The  _no_ laid on the tip of your tongue. You knew you could say it, and it didn’t have to do with consent or the awkwardness of not giving it, but you knew that you had to start taking these steps. You could be so much more comfortable with your soulmark, and it would help you become more comfortable with yourself. The first step is showing someone. This is the next step.

“Sure,” you supplied after a breath.

Your mattress creaked as Tia got off of it. She waved her hand near your shoulder in indication, then slowly, carefully, brushed her fingers against coloring in your skin. You were successful in hiding the tense of your muscles, so Tia carried on. When she traces the mark’s main outline she had accidentally triggered a laugh to bubble from your throat. She laughed too.

“It’s really cool, though. And beautiful. Think about what this means. It’s like—what if it’s  _him,_ y’know?” Tia said, vaguely gesturing to the mark. You felt yourself relaxing as you pulled on your shirt, glad at least she would be there to defend you, and that she knew and that you weren’t crazy for being so nervous and excited all at once.

“I wonder about that every time I go to sleep at night,” You confessed, and that made Tia giggle. Then everything had resumed, and maybe there was still a little bit of the awfulness lingering in the depths of your belly, but most of it was gone and your best friend was there. But that doesn’t mean she won’t tease you.

Tia unlocked your door and smiled,”It’s almost too bad, to be honest with you.”

“And why is that?” You enquired as she pulled it open and stepped out into the hall.

“Well, obviously, your sweet little crush on our resident  _Kent Boy_ isn’t going to work out,” She snickered at your flushed face, and knocked away your hand before you could shush her. Tia pats your back,”I mean… Jon could never be…  _him_.”

“I guess I’ll have to work my way around that, then,” you rolled your eyes, and then firmly shushed her,”But I thought you said you weren’t going to  _bring that up—._ ” You then proceeded to get into a play fight in the middle of your hall, smacking at each other’s hands, laughing and squealing and teasing.

Maybe you were there physically, but certainly not mentally. You didn’t like looking too deep into your mark—after all, it could be something completely different from what you imagined—but fate was still waiting for you on the horizon, with the bearer of a soulmark that symbolized all that you were waiting with them. You had to start being more open about it. At least with your friends. That was the next step. Be open with your friends. After all, it wouldn’t be much.

Damian would care less, Leto would smirk to herself and say  _I knew it_ , and Cal would just make heart-eyes at Tia and hope you didn’t notice. It was normal. Everyone in your little circle had been friends since middle school. All—even mysteriously secretive Damian Wayne—had given in and shown their marks. Every time it hadn’t been a big deal.

Leto’s was a beautiful chrysanthemum planted in her palm, with its golden leaves ripe, folded with the creases in her skin, and it’s strong stem wrapped around her wrist. Tia’s was a GCPD badge nestled in the cup of her collarbones. Cal grew up thinking she had just this odd, white blot on her stomach, but then Damian came along and clicked his tongue,” _It’s the sun, you dumbass,”_ which caused a chorus of giggles to resound about the room. He had taken the longest to give in, but eventually pulled down his waistline to reveal a scarred and gnarled mass of flesh on his hip he confessed was once a pair of cat’s eyes. No one had asked why it had been burned off.

And then, there was a Jonathan Kent who had not shown his mark. Cal and Leto made a dangerous combination when it came to solving problems and uncovering the truth. Not only had they unearthed your crush on the boy, but also the fact that you’d practically been in love with him since seventh grade. But they couldn’t exactly blame you; Jon and Damian were  _those kids_  in your grade. Damian was the kid everyone had a crush on until they realized he was a bit of an asshole (Julie Matthews from your freshman Digital Art class never quite got over him, but at least she knew he was actually not a horrible person), and Jon was the outsider that everyone loved once you got to know him. You had yet to get over Jon.

I mean… you’d spent your teenage years fantasizing about your soulmate. You’d created this perfect image of a person. They’d be kind, and brave, and strong, and all those stupidly perfect things that no one could ever be because no one is perfect. Nobody’s perfect, but Jon Kent  _is_. Not only is he stupidly brave and intuitively polite and kind… but, according to the entire world, Jon is also incredibly attractive. Or, in Damian’s words,  _I guess he’s not_ too  _disgusting to look at. He’s no Two-Face, but he’s getting there_.

Maybe you were wrong to disagree with Tia that Jon could never amount to what the fate your mark had given you. But maybe there was a chance, just a chance, that Jon really was as perfect as you imagined he was.

After all, the crest of the House of El emblazoned on your back whispered  _Superboy_ , and Superboy is pretty damn perfect too.

* * *

“Corncob, I swear on the mantle of the Batman, I will drive this car into the nearest ditch and kill myself if I have to suffer through one more minute of your  _whining_ ,” Damian hissed, hitting the break and sharply pulling both of their bodies forward.

There was a honk from behind them, and Damian paused at the red light, flicked his arm out the driver’s side window and flipped them off, huffing something about how he’d been driving since he was six or something like that. Jon was too lost in thought to thoroughly pay attention.

”Kent. You’re  _telling_ them. You’re telling L/N, because they’re you’re self-acclaimed  _“best friend”—_ ” He made air-quotes against the wheel,”—which, frankly, I’m offended that you have not given  _me_ this title, but as your second-in-line-to-best-friend, it is my righteous duty to tell them that you are soulmates if you want to pursue this…  _relationship_ … with them.”

“But… what if it’s the wrong decision? What if this hurts them?” Jon asked himself. He cast his eyes out to the windshield. Over the cars wrapped around the corners of the street, the sun hung in the sky like a blossoming flower, it’s petals boiling the water and turning the sand of the beach to glass in this heat. The Metropolis Public Beach was more crowded than usual, sprinkled with trunks and bikinis and water-winged children, peppered around volleyball nets and under umbrellas. Some lingered by the pier and inside the shops and establishments lining the sidewalk.

Today was the day. He’d tell you everything. The locket wrapped around his shoulder tingled with the thought, and he couldn’t help but scratch at it. There was something special about his mark that made him a very lucky young man; he was apart of the portion of the population called “the instants”, which meant that his soulmark had his soulmates name on it and that it was possible he would instantly meet them (hence the name).

It was a pretty little thing. The chain was small and clung to his shoulder like it would someone’s neck, the rusted locket settled in the dip of his deltoid, the peak of the thin line where his tricep and his bicep parted. It was closed. And thank Rao it was, because on the cover of that locket read:  _Y/N L/N_.  _[Birthdate]_.

The moment when you bumped your swing against his swing and murmured that beautiful,  _beautiful_ name Jon had nearly burst into tears on the spot. But what if it was  _another_ Y/N? He couldn’t be sure. Until he saw the familiar chain peek out from the depths of your collar on culmination day, and then he’d ran home so fast he’d broken a Jon-sized hole in the front door. His mom didn’t really care, as she’d dropped down her knees and wrapped her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe.

But he couldn’t tell you. He knew you were his soulmate, but he couldn’t tell you, because he had powers and he could hurt you. So Damian decided for Jon that Jon was going to tell you everything today. What made matters worse is that Damian had a plan, and Damian’s plans always worked out, but usually at a cost of Jon’s. Hopefully, today would work out in his favor. Even if he was basically spilling his guts to you.

“You’re both my best friends,” Jon supplied, realizing Damian had already found a parking spot. He shook his head to wipe the daze off his face.

Damian looked displeased, opening his door,”You can’t have two best friends.  _Best_ , in this case, means to be of the highest degree or the most. You cannot have two best friends because one must be better than the other, and I am  _clearly_ much better—”

Damian continued to explain this to Jon in detail as they unpacked their beachwear, Damian hooking all of their bags around Jon’s limbs and then leading him off like a pack mule descending into the desert. Jon’s heart was already hammering in his chest like a mad-man had gotten his hands on some drumsticks and camped out in Jon’s chest cavity. His face was red with nervous clots of sweat and his own embarrassment. He hoped that it would make him look like carrying the mass of bags on his back was actually hard, instead of so light he’d already forgotten he was carrying something.

Rao, was he really going to do this? Damian had said to just do whatever and listen to him, but what would happen if he just told you outright? How would you react? Would you be surprised? Pleased? Excited? He wondered if he could see your mark, or what it was, or if you even had one at all? What if you  _didn’t_ have a mark and he was revealing his for nothing—?

Jon’s thoughts ground to a halt as a gaggle of girls came upon them, surrounding Damian, giggling and laughing at things he said. They’d must have been standing there for fifteen minutes, as around that time the girls would start touching him, and there was already a couple reaching for the muscles in his best friend’s arms.

Damian always did this every time they went somewhere public—both to keep up his reputation as Bruce Wayne’s charming son, and to remind the press that he was just some idiot playboy. Damian nor Jon enjoyed the act, but it’s not like you could tell by looking at him. The son of Batman—or at the very least,  _Dami_ , as the girls had already deemed him affectionately—appeared to be in his element. He made a witty retort at Jon’s expense and a flitter of giggling arose into the air like the sweet scent of a summer flower.

“Alright, ladies, break it up, break it up,” Leto clapped as she, Cal, and Tia approached. Cal, much like Jon, was carrying all of their belongings of her friends. But she wasn’t even breaking a sweat. While Leto cleared up the crowd, Cal even offered to take some of the weight off.

“You’re looking a little queasy, mi amigo,” She’d said casually. Jon had shaken his head. Cal cast a glance at Damian, disinterested, and then her expression grew curious once she swept over the girls,”One day, Damian’s going to actually have to start paying us to get rid of them. I get that it’s his way of avoiding the press and stuff, but he ruins the act if he asks for them to leave him alone, so we have to come in and save him  _every time_. Leto and Y/N are gonna have to start using sticks to fend em’ off.”

“Trust me when I say that I don’t need a stick,” you said from Jon’s other side, causing him to jolt and yelp with your sudden entrance. Cal smirked at him knowingly, snickering to herself. Your laugh was like the sweetest honey. He felt a little bad for thinking that you laugh was much nicer in comparison to those belonging to the other girls.

Cal moved on to greet Tia too enthusiastically, and Jon felt that familiar feeling settles in his gut once he realized that you were standing here,  _together_. You were now doing the same thing at the same time and doing it together. It was stupid how much joy that gave him.

“Is it just me or is Cal like…  _super_ into Tia?” You asked rhetorically, casting him a smile. Jon tensed with the word, suddenly panicking,  _do you know? Oh, Rao, you know, don’t you? And you’re referencing love, oh my Rao—_ Politely, you added,”Hi, by the way. It’s nice to see you.”

Jon was almost shaking. He could feel the awkward angle of his glasses as they slid down his nose via his sweat, and how long it was taking him to answer, and the anxious quiver when he finally did,”Yeah-yeah, she… really likes her! Ha… Been that way for, like, ever now… Uhm, and it’s really, really nice to see you too.”

Used to his rambling, you only smiled and looked on as Leto greeted Damian with a friendly slap on the ass. It was then that your hand lifted in slow motion, climbing closer and closer to Jon’s face, before the pads of your thumbs met the bridge of his glasses and pushed them upward for him. You did this like it was casually something friends did—friends as you and Jon were anyway, as Leto always greeted Damian with a slap on the ass—even if it was your equivalent of tenderly brushing locks of hair behind his ears,”…If that load is starting to get too much for you, pass some over to Cal. I hear she’s open to prove her strength to a certain someone, Smallville.”

“Ye-yeah,” Jon assured. He briefly forgot that he was supposed to be struggling with the weight of the bags, and had to force his sandals into the sand before he began to float.

* * *

By the time you and Tia had returned from the public changing rooms, Cal had already claimed a spot. It was a good distance from the shore and the pier, so you could go get food later if you wanted too. Camp had begun to be set up, with Damian readily clinging to the shade of the umbrella, likely determined to stay there. Cal and Leto were wrestling with the poles of a mobile volleyball net. Your eyes immediately swiveled around for Jon, and Leto saw you looking out of the corner of her eye.

“He went off to get some ice cream. Don’t worry, I told him to get some for you, not like he was already going to do it—” That was when she double-taked, spotted the bits of the red crest creeping from the dips of your shoulders, and dropped the pole. Damian caught it with his foot like he planned for it to fall, nose already buried in some nonfiction title about the structure of crime scenes. You were thankful he didn’t look up from it, as all eyes but his were immediately on you. Leto managed to choke out the last of her sentence,”…anyway.”

“Holy shit—” Cal gaped.

“Is that—?” Ventured Leto.

Together, in unison, they blurted,”You’re  _soulmark?”_

Damian looked up. He was the only one but Tia who could clearly make out the structure on your back, and to literally everyone’s surprise, took one look at the mark and began howling with unrestrained laughter. Leto would normally take this opportunity to tease him, but was too caught up in the idea of  _you_ exposing your  _soulmark_ that she could care less. But she and Cal assumed that Damian’s laughter meant it was something truly… laughable, and in seconds you were whirled around and your soulmark was displayed to the world. With a sigh, you bowed your head. You should have expected this.

“Oh my god,  _Superman is Y/N’s soulmate!_ ” Cal stage-whispered in shock.

“Superman? No, Super _boy_ , dumbass,” Leto corrected.

“Or Supergirl,” Cal supplied.

“Supergirl’s not young enough for them, unless there’s another one out there in the future we don’t know about,” Leto said.

“Could also just be some dude and or chick obsessed with Superman?” Tia supplied.

“Oh, god, what about  _Jon?_ ” Cal cried, and the phrase made your expression fix. To make things more suspicious, the two others shushed her violently.

“Guys, give them some room. Did you even think to ask if Y/N  _wanted_ you to see it yet?” Tia huffed. She adjusted the sunglasses on her face and shook her head. Leto and Cal retracted, and you absentmindedly rubbed at your spine.

“It’s very beautiful,” Cal commented. She admired it as much as she could before you turned around, briefly glancing at Tia as she went over to scold Damian for laughing,”And it’s…?”

“Real? Yeah,” you said awkwardly. The girls nodded, and then something hit the sand not too far off and all of your eyes were swiveling to stare at Jon.

He looked, to your surprise,  _exhilarated_. You blushed deeply under the intensity of his awe, going so far as to drop his wallet and shove the ice creams into Leto’s hands. Then Jon was there. He was in front of you, looking at  _you_ in awe, like you were the beautiful thing instead of the mark. Everything from then seemed to quiet; the beach seemed silence, leaving only the murmur of the ocean’s sway and the distant cars to fill the space between you. Their eyes were on you but you couldn’t feel it nor care for them.

Jon’s hand rose, his knuckles about to graze your cheek. His eyes were not just  _blue_ , but nearly  _violet_ , just when the sun is beginning to set and there’s a little bit of that purple midnight mixed in. The way it showed between the mess of locks over his brow was like sunlight caught between shadow. His lips pulled back to reveal the most charming smile you had ever seen. It faded awkwardly when he retracted his hand just before it reached your skin, and returned in a less bright fashion.

Jon broke the silence,”May I…?”

You gave a little nod, but the confirmation was more in how you spun around. One of his hands gently grasps your shoulder to keep your in place as to admire the art, and the other begins its journey. The digit makes its way from one end of the  _S_ to the other. It winds like a river, the yellows turning to gold under his touch, walking the path with his fingers like he’d done it a thousand times. A fine chill smooths it’s way down your skin as his touch spreads. It is the kind of feeling that, if spread through the earth, would grow flowers and ripen crops. A flash of emotion crosses your face without your permission, and even you wonder what it means.

But, again, his fingers drop and the moment evaporates. Jon smiles nervously like he’s trying to press something down. You turned around to be met with this smile, and encourages something similar on your own face,”It’s very beautiful. Whoever they are, they’re… they’re amazingly lucky.” Jon said now that you were eye-to-eye.

“Thank you,” you whispered quietly.

“It’s only the truth,” Jon said. He was gazing at you—gazing seemed to be the only appropriate term—all dizzy-like, almost swaying on his feet like he’d tip over if you poked him. Then you realized that  _you_ were gazing too. Then it dawned on the both of you that you were just standing there and gazing into each others eyes, causing both parties to turn and cough or bow their heads to hide a blush.

Damian sighed and crossed his arms,”Goddammit.”

* * *

Volleyball could calm you down. You liked volleyball; in gym class, you always got the last ten minutes for free-time, and so your group of friends would stand around in a circle and hit the ball two and fro until the bell rang. None of you had ever been on a volleyball team nor watched professional games, so you sort of just looked to Damian and waited for him to serve. The same goes for now, but Damian actually went out and bought a net (“How much was it? It looks expensive,” you asked. He shrugged,”I don’t know. I just saw a lot of zeros and clicked that one.”) and so you set it up and started hitting three-on-three with nothing but the basic rules.

Jon had claimed you and Damian for his team, but Damian was such a ball-hog it was more you and Jon just standing there and Damian challenging Cal. At one point or another, Damian decided you should both start participating and took a timeout to come up with a battle strategy. He’d used too much military-lingo for you to understand. Thankfully, Jon had somehow gotten all of it and delivered a brief explanation to you before trying to execute it.

Damian held the ball level in his palm, looking toward you and Jon to see if you were in position. With a nod from both sides, he tossed the ball up in the air, and it rocketed to you at top speed. Cal was already diving on the other side of the net in order to prepare for the next strike. But instead of hitting the ball  _over_  the net you sent it sailing upward. Sand whirled around Jon’s feet and it seemed like he’d lept far too high for any normal person, before spiking the ball into the other court with enough force to turn the ground to glass.

When the ball hit the sand you and Damian cheered. But Jon had entered the jump with no plan for landing, and subsequently crashed into the net. He took it down right with him, hitting the sand with a hard  _thump._ Before anyone could do anything, the net pulled the poles from sand and brought them down on Jon’s back in a seemingly harmless fashion. Regardless, he delivered a groan (that, unbeknownst to you, was the fakest groan that Jon had ever made).

While Damian burst into laughter, you and Cal pulled the pieces of the net off of him. Cal winced,”That’s definitely going to leave a bruise. You okay, Jon?”

“Oh yeah, fine,” Jon pushed himself off the ground, then realized that he should probably be in pain and began to whine and moan, rubbing at the parts of his back that he could reach.

“Woah, look at the poles!” Leto cried. She uprooted one of the strong,  _metal poles,_ and displayed them to you. Where each had made contact with Jon’s back they’d bent like bendy straws, almost at two complete 90-degree angles.

Jon immediately flushed with nervousness, or maybe it was the pain, but Damian was quick to cover through his laughter. He elbowed Jon a little too harshly in the ribs,”Must not have been as expensive as I’d imagined.”

You observed the poles with an odd expression, only one thought running through your mind. Both diminished when you turned to Jon. He turned instantly rubicund when you reached out and squeezed his shoulder, worriedly patting his back,”Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Fine,” Jon tried again, voice cracking. Your hand squeezed his shoulder one more time before it slipped off. His shoulder. His shoulder with his soulmark on it. His shoulder with his soulmark on it, that confirmed that  _you_  were his soulmate. Jon offered you a too-giddy smile,”I’ve been through worse.”

“Alright, I think that’s enough volleyball for now,” Leto laughed. Then, she clapped,”I say we swim for a little while, then we dry off and head to the pier! Agreed?”

“Agreed,” rejoiced the crowd.

* * *

“Is it  _always_ like this in Metropolis?” You questioned, raising an arm to deflect the splashes coming from Tia, Cal, and Leto’s water-war. With a nod at Damian, who took refuge under his beloved umbrella, you flicked a little water at Jon,”Even for us Gothamites, the weather still changed. It’s  _always_ sunny here.”

“Basically,” Jon replied. He smiled and flicked a little water back.”Maybe it’s where I get my sunny personality.”

That made you laugh. It brought a large grin to Jon’s face to know that he had caused that, that he had said something funny and it made you smile. A wave of butterflies settled in his stomach with that beautiful sound.

You wadded around the water until it was up to your waist, jumping with the waves and trying to avoid getting knocked over by the strength of them. Jon seemed unbothered, and didn’t hesitate to put a hand on your back to keep you standing once a larger one rolled through. The blush was impossible to hide. Your arm was pressed against his side, and not only was his hand politely resting on your upper back, but his thumb was doing that tracing thing again.

That sensation… it was more than relaxing, more than comforting. It was like drinking hot chocolate after a day of playing in the snow, the hot liquid warming in the depths of your belly; like taking a drive with the windows open, the sun setting on the horizon as the breeze pulled back your hair; like waking up in the middle of the night to find that the day’s heatwave had  _finally_ broken, that the night had cooled, and lazily pulling the blanket on before succumbing to a deep sleep. It was settling into bed after too long of a day. And Jon would be there, opening his arms and bringing you into them. The feeling was simply  _Jon_. You were beginning to fall in love with it.

“I know that, as a person who’s fairly reserved myself, that it might be rude to pry,” you began, carding your fingers through the water. It rippled and parted before your hands, trailing behind and eagerly enveloping your digits like it loved your touch. Jon didn’t doubt it—everything loved you,  _should_ love you, from the ocean to the air to the Earth. Where your palm touched the water the sun followed, turning the ocean gold.

“But I’ve… I’ve always wondered—and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to—but… what does your soulmark look like?” You questioned.

Jon let out a heavy breath, and briefly wished Damian was there so he could give an answer for him. But Jon was supposed to be the one with words out of the two of them, so he somehow managed to find them, his thumb subconsciously sweeping across the  _S_ covering your spine.

“Promise not to tell?” Jon asked, holding his breath. His eyes accidentally fell to your neck. He was lucky you’d taken off your locket and left it in your bag, a result of your fear of losing it to the sea. If you had it on, it would most definitely give him away.

You silently raised your pinkie to him.

Jon nearly shriveled up into a ball of ash from how close the two of you were then. His hand was  _on your back_ , stroking your  _mark_ , which you seemed even pleased with. Your arm repeatedly brushed his side, sending miniature shocks from his skin to his mind each time it occurred. He had to angle his head to look at you, and that meant that he could now see the individual lashes on your eyes, and the flecks of alternating color in your irises.

He debated just capturing your lips in a kiss then and there. That’s certainly what his mother would have done in this situation—she was bold like that, and Jon had never wished to have that boldness more than that second. His inner Damian was screaming at him to do so, but his dad was in there somewhere too, and Superman told him it just wasn’t time yet. Not knowing who to listen to, Jon wrapped his pinkie with yours and shook.

“Promise.” Y/N swore. Jon smiled.

Clearing his throat, he pushed down the urge to scratch his mark, and searched his mind for a way to put this into words.”Well… I’m an instant.”

“No way!” You beamed, and the sudden joy in your face nearly knocked Jon into the water,”You know their name. That has to be so amazing. Have you met them yet?”

Jon didn’t hesitate to answer, and he wanted to punch himself for it,”Yeah.”

“You  _dog_. Why didn’t you tell me?” You cried, punching him playfully in the side. It made Jon’s cheeks hurt.

“Well, they don’t know yet either. I’m just… waiting for the right time, I guess,” Jon confessed.

If he was being honest, this form of telling you made his inner-Damian’s offers seem more tempting. His confidence was already near peaking. He didn’t think to question why you were happy for him, or if it was an act—which it was.

It was getting harder to hold the smile on your face.  _So he did know them_. There was a 99% chance that Jon’s soulmate was most definitely not you. You’d always hoped that he could be… now that you were actually voicing it in your mind, saying that Jon was Superboy sounded dumb. Sure, maybe there was a bit of resemblance, but that was as far as it went. Jon was a dork, and Superboy was…  _Superboy._

You’d met him. Once. Every day you regret not telling Superboy, but… how could you? How could you even  _begin_  that conversation? He probably got people of all kinds coming up to him and flashing their tattoos, saying,  _No, Superboy, I’M your soulmate!_ If you did he’d probably just think that you were another one of the fakers, so desperate to be in his life that they put makeup over their own marks and got a fake one.

When you couldn’t get rides to school, you always took the train. Being born in Gotham meant that your parents didn’t exactly trust the metro, but now that you’d moved to Metropolis they were much more lenient, and if Mrs. Kent or Leto’s dad couldn’t drive you then you took the train.

In Metropolis, they had they big system of high-scale ones (thanks to Wayne Enterprises and LexCorp) that ran over tracks hung above the city and weaving between skyscrapers. You’d always liked the view from above so you stationed yourself by the door, jamming with your headphones in when people started screaming. A fight had been taking place downtown on your way, and the villain-of-the-week had thrown Superman clear through the incoming track. When Superman caught the front car the jolt had been too sudden, and the doors flew clean off and suddenly you were falling. And then, just as suddenly, you weren’t.

Superboy, you remember, had  _violet_ eyes. The shadows of nearby buildings had made them the color of fat, ripe plums, and the surprise shone so clearly within them you could still remember the look on his face. His lips had parted in the fraction of a second as if to say something, but then he’d cleared his throat and began flying you back up to the car,” _Are you alright?_ ”

Jon had sworn in the two seconds you didn’t respond that you’d suddenly blurt out his name,” _Jon?!_ ” But you never did, only nodding dumbly and clutching him tightly. He’d taken the Batman approach and lowered his voice and turned his face away, trying to keep you from recognizing him. His dad wasn’t stupid enough to just expect normal glasses to hide their identities, but the Kryptonian hypnotic specs in his lenses could only do so much when he was in civies.

There’d been two more seconds after he’d set you back in the car, allowing you to slip your body out of his bridal-style hold. He’d landed there with you and stared down at you again, distracted, worried, and a number of other things—you  _had_ just been pulled from an eighty-foot drop. He’d have to remind you to stop taking the train.

Your hands laid on his arms in search of something to hold you up, and the way you’d looked dazed and afraid made him want to stay behind. It seems that you had wanted the same thing. He could vividly feel your grip on him tightening, a silent plea for the safety his presence provided before you let him go when your senses came back to you.

“ _Thank you, Superboy_ ,” you’d whispered shakily. His other name on your tongue made it harder to keep fighting against gravity.

The other passengers were looking at him oddly, so he quickly took his hands off your sides and you did the same. He’d made sure you were looking at him when he promised,” _Always._ ” Then he reminded the other citizens that they’d get them out of there, and he was flying away to help his dad.

Now, trying to make the comparison between Superboy and Jon made your brain feel fuzzy and you didn’t like it. But before your mind turned away from the subject, you could definitely gather that both had blue-purple eyes. Your brain would give out if you tried again, and so you stopped trying to make the comparison in fear of a headache, turning your attention back to Jon.

“Tell me about them?” You suggested, flicking more water at him.

Jon flicked back with a smile, humming to himself and visible thinking of ways to not give away this whole charade to you.”Okay, fine. What do you want to know?” Jon asked. When he saw you perk up, he swiftly added,”And nothing too obvious. I’m not giving away too much.”

You snickered again. Rao, he could never get enough of that laugh. Then, you shrugged,”Uh… okay.”

Carefully, you considered your words and ran a hand through the waves, watching the water ripple and chase your fingers. When you next meet his eyes you enter that kind of staring contest where neither wants to look away. There is a clear sincerity in your gaze,”Do they make you happy?”

Jon felt that warmth spread from his head to his toes, the kind that relaxed his shoulders, made him feel more human than ever. He wished there was a better word for  _happy_ , because that feeling in his belly was that and more. It kindled whenever he even  _looked_ at you. It burst aflame with a heat that could rival his sun’s when you laughed or smiled, unwavering as the day’s promise to lighten. That was not happiness. It was love. But Jon could settle for happy, at the very least.

“More than anything in the whole entire world,” Jon swore.

You knew by the look on his face that this was no lie. You knew by the look on his face that Jonathan Kent was in love, and you pushed down the resentment and smiled.”Good. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

* * *

“It’s rigged.” Leto informed.

“Nothing’s really rigged if you can out-rig it.” Jon supplied.

“Whatever you say, Damian Wayne.” You joked.

“Untrue. I would never apply the phrase “out-rig” to my vocabulary.” Damian huffed.

“You just did.” Cal countered.

Before Damian could start the fight to end all fights, Jon rolled back his arm and pitched the ball forward. He could see that the bottles had all been nailed to the rows of shelving they stood upon. The man who ran the booth sat smugly off to the side, flipping the newspaper that Jon’s mother had written. When not only the bottles and the nails holding them down came from the shelf, but the shelf collapsed too, the shopkeep looked up at Jon wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

When you whooped and hollered, clapping him on the shoulder in your excitement, Jon could only beam. He scanned the rows of prizes in search of something you’d like. All of the shelves and racks were brimming with prizes that had never been won, like light-up glow swords that would last a couple hours, and then giant stuffed animals at least half his size. He knew you didn’t really like anything of the sort, so choose randomly and hoped for the best.

“Uh, I’ll take the bear please,” Jon said proudly.

The man grumbled to himself and used the stepladder to get it down, practically shoving it into Jon’s arms. He watched the shopkeep scratch his head and look at the remains of his “game”, but before he could offer the massive stuffed animal to you, saw a little girl wearing a Superboy shirt. She had big, wide E/C a lot like yours, and kept staring up at him in awe.

“Here,” Jon offered, bending down to give her the bear. She took it with a delighted little gasp, but then questioned him with furrowed brows and those same, startlingly similar E/C eyes. Jon pointed to her shirt and grinned,”I like Superboy too.”

She took the bear and beamed,”You’re strong. Like him. Thank you!”

“Thank  _you._ ” Jon returned and watched her skitter off to her parents.

You smiled at him, and felt your friend’s gazes suddenly turn from the little girl to you and Jon.”You’re so sweet,” You said, and Jon’s face flared. He murmured an embarrassed  _thanks_ , which only made Damian shake his head. You didn’t like the way he and the girls exchanged looks. With a nod, they took the signal and Cal began to whine.

“I’m  _starving_. Can we please get some food?” She complained, rubbing her belly as it groaned with her.

“Agreed. Let’s get some pier-food before we go on the rollercoaster,” Leto suggested. She tapped Damian on the arm,”I’ll pay for drinks if you pay for food?”

Damian confirmed with a nod, pushing his sunglasses atop his head and rifling through his wallet. He offered Tia and Cal a twenty, knowing they would want to split off together. You all swiftly listed off your preferences to both pairs.

As Leto and Damian were about to walk off, Leto chattering on about funnel cakes, Damian sent Jon a look:  _Now’s your chance. Do it, corncob._

Just before Cal and Tia disappeared arm-in-arm, Tia smiled at you encouragingly,”It might take us a while, because the lines are really long. Why don’t you and Jon go do something and then we’ll text you and meet back up nearby?”

You nodded, and Cal winked her goodbye.

Once they disappeared into the crowd, the wink, the talk, the look Damian gave Jon all came back to you in the span of a millisecond. You held in a curse; they had  _planned_ this. Maybe they weren’t even coming back. They all knew about your massive crush on Jon, so it was eventual that they’d make a plot to get you alone together. While on one hand, you wanted to punch Damian and Leto in their stupid smug faces, you were also quite willing to hug them. Regardless of how much you liked him, Jon was also a very charming and funny person to be around, and they’d made a habit of hogging him from you today. He was an amazing friend. You’d only managed to talk to him a little bit about his soulmate earlier and that was it.

“Hey, instead of playing carnival games, do you wanna maybe go see this thing?” Jon scratched the back of his neck, shimmying in his sneakers and failing miserably at coming across as casual.”I know this is your first time at the Metropolis pier, but my parents used to take me all the time. There’s this really good spot…”

“Sure. I’d love to,” you said. With a funny bow, you extend your arm to him, proposing in your best English accent,”M’lady?”

“Thank you, good sir,” Jon snickered, hooking your arms.

He paused ever so briefly to just admire you, with the fading sun coating your skin, and your arm entwined with his.

“Lead the way,” You said.

* * *

Behind the seafood restaurant at the end of the walkway, there was this cute little outdoor place, fit with umbrellas and cushioned seats stuffed inside this little box of fencing. You cut through toward the back, and Jon held open the gate for you. You thanked him graciously with a nod.

This little secluded area was the true end of the pier. The water crashed against the large wooden supports far below, churning and dancing under the light of the dying sun as if it were alive, filling the air with the song of the sparkling ocean. Your eyes widened toward the canopy of clouds, and Jon knew he had picked the perfect place. He had to thank Damian for the time, though.

“Woah,” you murmured.

“Woah indeed,” Jon replied.

And if you didn’t look beautiful earlier then you were a goddamn angel now. The sun always seemed to romanticize you, make the light catch in every tress of your hair, wave softly over your face. The sun was kneeling on the horizon and Jon decided that he had finally reached it. Because if this moment was the horizon then you were the sun, and maybe that was a dumb metaphor but his parents had made him into a hopeless romantic and he thought it fit.

He slid his legs beneath the railing, resting his arms on the next rung, and you followed suit at his side. There was a steady silence in which he asked himself what he would do next, what  _you_ would do next. What would come after that. What came after today, or tomorrow. What this moment had in store for you. He could still see your mark, big and beautiful as the sun. Whatever came next… it would be just as beautiful.

“I need to tell you something. Two really big things,” Jon began.”And I really, really don’t want you to be mad at me because of it, and because of how long it’s taken me to get here. But just, try not to be angry, please?”

You shifted uneasily in your seat, and again he felt your eyes on him, observing him slowly,”Okay. What’s up?”

Now that he was actually sitting here, he’d never been more terrified in his entire life. He felt truly like Jonathan Kent there—not Superboy, not Jon. But  _Jonathan Kent_ , the boy Jon had made up to hide his real identity. The shy, dorky boy who had no idea what the real world was like, who had this stupid crush on this beautiful person, and had never had the courage to tell them that they were soulmates.

Rao, how long had it been? Since he knew? Since he decided to keep this part of him from you? From the moment you met, he’d known. From the moment you’d met he’d been lying to you. His father had always said that was one of the hardest parts about all of this. There were going to be days where you just  _had_ to be the weak one, where they’d all be laughing at you, and you’d have the power to make them stop laughing. Because all the bullies in school didn’t deserve to know Jon’s secret, regardless of how many times he’d wanted to prove them wrong. There’d be the people and the times where he’d wanted to tell loved ones more than anything, but he couldn’t. It was his burden. He could never bring you into all of this.

Rao, how many times had he wanted to tell you? The times he’d wanted to defend you but couldn’t. The moments where you needed someone like Superboy, but Superboy couldn’t be there, and you were stuck with  _Jon_. All those nights spent laughing side-by-side. He’d look down at you, and you’d be smiling like you had everything you’d ever wanted, and the words sat bitterly on the edge of his tongue. He could never bring you into all of this.

But maybe he could. Because his mom had, and you were like his mom in the way where you were strong and smart. His mom was happy. His mom was  _safe_ , most importantly, and Jon knew better than anyone that he would do anything to keep you safe. If fate had bound you both in the way it had, then you were destined to know regardless. You were destined to be capable of dealing with the whole world he had on his shoulders. Maybe that’s why he loves you—because, at the end of the day, you are the one person who can handle his bullshit. And how romantic and profound is that?

“That day on the train, you had no idea how worried I was,” Jon said. He saw his hand shaking as it took the edge of his glasses,”I saw you fall and just—everything went by so fast. I don’t think I’d ever flown that quickly in my entire life.”

“…Jon…?” You said slowly.

“I’ve always wanted to trust you. I have. But the world has never been nice to me, and I always thought that if you knew, I wouldn’t be able to save you,” Jon said,”But I trust you more. I  _know_ you better, and I know that you can take all of this. Rao, Y/N, this is going to sound so  _stupid_ out loud,”

With a final flick, the glasses were off, and you were meeting his eyes, his  _real eyes_ , for the first time since the day on the train.

And then he said it,”Y/N, I’m Superboy.”

Your brain took the transition slowly, step-by-earth-shattering-step, the red and blue lenses coming together to form the 3D image. He watched, nervous and attentive as ever while the cogs slowly ground into motion. This wasn’t just the transition from the Kryptonian hypnosis, but your own processing. The information registered in your eyes first, spreading out to the rest of your body as it went slack.

Then, flatly, dumbfounded, to yourself, you whispered,”I’m a total  _dumbass_.”

“No you’re not,” Jon laughed awkwardly. You took him by the shoulders, looking at his face, and his breath hitched tightly when you held his jaw. You turned his chin left and right, making sure that every inch of the magic wore off and that he wasn’t lying. But then the thought of Superboy lying hit you and then you felt  _more_ stupid, because how can  _Superboy lie_ —

“You’re just wearing glasses.  _Glasses_ , Jon! If I’m not stupid, then all of Metropolis—the world— _is!_  You’re hiding your identity with a pair of  _glasses!_ ” You laughed, wrapping your arms around him.”How in the  _ever living_ hell—”

Jon accepted your embrace gratefully, feeling your shoulders shake with your laughter, wondering if you’d gone into shock or not. He felt that glorious sound against his ear, touching his shoulder and wrapping around his back as you did.

“They’re Kryptonian hypnosis tech. They trick you into thinking my…  _faces_ look just slightly different enough where you don’t notice, and if you try to, it’ll give you a headache.” Jon explained.

“ _Kryptonian?_ As in—?” You questioned.

Jon nodded.

“And that means—your dad is—” you ventured.

“Yes,” Jon said.

“And you are—” you choked.

“Uh-huh,” Jon said.

Your hand flew to your back,”And so…  _I’m_ …  _we’re_ —”

Jon didn’t know how to answer that last one. Gently, he pulled back his sleeve to reveal the locket wrapped around his shoulder.  _Your_ locket. You looked from it to him, posing a question. When Jon nodded, you reached out. His breath shuddered when you touched the skin, and in came the most powerful wash of love he’d ever been drowned in, like he’d been struggling for air since the day he was born and then his head was being pulled from the water.

He felt the tears then, just starting to surface against his irises and blurring your visage. By how your hands were quaking and silent whines fell from your lips you were starting to cry too. It was a good cry, though. It was good because you were doing it together, and you were happy together. Or maybe it was the other feeling Jon felt.

You spent the next eternity there. Your fingers spun in mindless circles, one hand wrapped around the real locket, the other mapping the duplicate on his skin as your teardrops fell into his hair. Jon had bowed his head against his shoulder, almost falling asleep with the kind sensation. He’d reciprocated by tracing the  _S_ over and over again. Maybe this was weird, maybe to other people, but for the both of you, it felt utterly perfect.

“How are we… how are we going to do this?” Jon asked, questioning for the first time in the conversation. He sniffled.

“Well, we should go slow.” You let go of your necklace and wiped your tears on the back of your hand. Jon pulled his head from your shoulder, eyes puffy and cheeks wetly red. You glanced down at his lips and wondered how many times you’d imagined kissing him, how many times you’d pictured the same for Superboy, and how many times you’d almost done it. Today was a day for breaking that steak of  _almosts_ , you supposed. Just barely, you grazed your thumb against his lip,”Or… maybe not  _too_  slow.”

Jon was a smart boy. He caught on fast. The eyes you knew were violet fell to your lips, hair blowing apart in the breeze, and suddenly you were brought back to the day on the train too. His hair had been wind-blown from flying and his eyes were full of surprise. Now that you thought about it, he was probably surprised because he didn’t know it would be  _you_ he was catching. You wanted to see that surprise again.

When you imagined kissing Jon, it is nervous and sweet and you both pull away too quickly. His hands don’t know where to go. He forgets to close his eyes at first. But when he’d pull away he’d be grinning hard enough to split his face in two, probably blushing so hard he doesn’t even look like Jon anymore. You’d be on the farm and clutching his jacket, and he’d keep grinning when he hugged you next.

When you imagined kissing Superboy, it is tight and soft and lasts so long you almost forget to breathe. You’re in the air so he’s more bracing than embracing. The wind keeps blowing your hair into each other’s faces. His smile is soft when you pull away, his voice softer, and when he speaks he whispers in your ear so you know he’s talking to you and you alone. You’d clutch his cape for dear life when he takes off.

But when you actually kiss him, when your lips actually meet and you realize this isn’t a fantasy, you don’t care about how you kiss. You only care that you’re kissing. It’s okay, and you know that you both are perfect, but it’s a kiss between the both of you and that’s all you’ve ever wanted. He is warm and big, something you can burrow into with the salty breeze blowing hair into your faces.

When you pull away you don’t open your eyes. You  _know_ Jon is grinning because you’re grinning too and you can practically feel his smile. There’s no memory of putting your arms around his neck but they are still there. His hands are warm against your face, and his fingers move the wind-blown locks out of your face too tenderly to be real.

“I think we should talk about this. What we want to be,” Jon said. You opened your eyes to discover his. The sunset had turned them lavender, and they are colored with pleasant surprise.

“Me too. I… I want to do this the right way.” You and Jon both stood, and you didn’t hide the way you reached up to touch your lips. There’s still no way you just  _kissed him_. This was definitely going to take some getting used to.

“Why don’t we go to my house. We can talk it out there.” Jon suggested, knowing full well what he was getting into. There was a big, cheesy grin on his face.

“Sure. But… isn’t it all the way across town?” You questioned.

Jon leaned close, and he raised an eyebrow,”Can I ask you a question?”

You withhold your  _but you just did_ comment and gave him a nod. Jon’s voice dropped to a whisper, his fingers carding down your mark, making you realize you’d planted your hand on his. Were you really soulmates? Your brain was definitely still processing the thought.

Jon smiled, and extended his hand.”Have you ever dreamed you could fly?”


End file.
